“A Poor Wayfaring Man of Grief” Project — Verse 6


Verse 6 — Latvia

In pris’n I saw him next, condemned

To meet a traitor’s doom at morn.

The tide of lying tongues I stemmed,

And honored him ’mid shame and scorn.

My friendship’s utmost zeal to try,

He asked if I for him would die.

The flesh was weak; my blood ran chill,

But my free spirit cried, “I will!”

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